


Soul Eater Drabbles

by a_big_apple



Category: Soul Eater
Genre: Drabble Collection, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-14
Updated: 2011-01-14
Packaged: 2017-11-17 10:13:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/550468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_big_apple/pseuds/a_big_apple
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some drabbles based on prompts from my LJ friends!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Old Habits Die Hard

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Cornerofmadness](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cornerofmadness/gifts), [saucy_babe (LJ)](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=saucy_babe+%28LJ%29).



> The first drabble is for the prompt _Hmmm how about a little Spirit/Stein, cigarettes and whiskey_.

Afterward, Spirit hooked his boxers and undershirt with a toe and tugged them on, swept his sweaty hair back into a careless ponytail. Stein hadn’t gotten his boxers all the way off in the first place, so he just pushed his glasses back up his nose and reached for the cigarettes.

There was only one left in the pack. They’d just have to share—not that it mattered much, when Spirit’s tongue had been in his mouth, among other places, not five minutes ago.

He fished the lighter out of his pants pocket, grateful they hadn’t been thrown out of reach of the bed; behind him, he heard the mattress creak, a bottle unscrewed, ice clinking into a glass. Figures Spirit would have a minibar in his bedside table.

Then a weight against his back, a warm arm sliding over his waist. A glass under his nose, whiskey the color of honey, with just two ice cubes. 

“You remember.”

“I never forget how someone takes their drinks,” Spirit murmurs into the back of his neck. “Gimme that cigarette, would you?”

Stein takes a drag, trades it for the glass. He can feel Spirit’s chest rise and fall against his spine, even through the rumpled undershirt, muscles and ribs and lungs filling, emptying, filling again. Spirit’s heart, beating just a little fast still, pumping blood out along his limbs and, from the feel of it, back down into his groin quicker than would seem possible.

“We haven’t done that in a long time.”

“Mm,” Stein replies, sips awkwardly at the whiskey, too lazy to sit up.

“A penny for your thoughts?”

“…I was thinking about how lovely your internal organs must look right now. You always did have beautiful viscera.”

Spirit snorts in his ear, blows a smoke ring, and wriggles closer. “Then I guess I’d better not fall asleep yet. I don’t want you rearranging my abdominal cavity.”

Oh, just the thought…Stein sets the glass down on the floor beside the bed as fingers worm their way beneath his boxers. Spirit’s not the only one with bloodflow going south.

“You complete pervert,” comes the fond, exasperated breath into his hair.


	2. Stardom

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Drabble #2 was for the prompt _Maka and Black Star are sent to bring in Excalibur for questioning at the Academy. Can they be successful while maintaining their sanity?_.

“Excalibuuuuur! Excalibuuuuur! From the United K! I’m lookin’ for Heaven, I’m goin’ to Californiaaaaaa! Excalibuuuur! Excalibuuuuur!”

Maka was three, perhaps four rounds of the Excalibur song away from completely snapping. Her hand clenched reflexively, though Soul wasn’t there—he’d left her to take on this assignment weaponless. 

_“The Holy Sword? No way. Not cool.”_

The jerk.

“Excalibuuuuur! Excalibuuuuur! From the United K! I’m lookin’ for Heaven, I’m goin’ to Californiaaaaaa!”

Of course, she wasn’t entirely alone. There was the ridiculous singing sword. And Black Star. At this point, she wasn’t sure which was worse—it had been a pretty tight race ever since Black Star lost it completely, and decided the only course was to sing louder.

“BLACK STAR’S A STAAAAAR! BLACK STAR’S A STAAAAAR! FROM THE DWMA! I’M LOOKING FOR KISHINS, I’M GONNA BE AN EVEN BIGGER STAAAAAAR!”

Maka just clenched her fists again, wishing, _longing_ for the weight of a very sharp weapon in her hand.


End file.
